


Too Close to Home

by Ordered_Chaos



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, EMT Castiel, EMT Crowley, Emergency Medical Technicians, Feels, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mechanic Dean, Mention of addiction, Mention of child abuse/neglect, mention of overdose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 09:45:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12554692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ordered_Chaos/pseuds/Ordered_Chaos
Summary: An emergency call hits Cas a little too close to home, but Dean can't just watch him be upset.





	Too Close to Home

**Author's Note:**

> AU where Dean is the fleet mechanic for an ambulance service, and Cas and Crowley are EMT partners on the road.
> 
> I promise this has a happy ending for all involved.

Dean is used to seeing the trucks come back scarred up. Ambulances take quite a beating on the roads: from constant use, hard driving, occasional accidents and frequent scrapes with curbs or side mirrors. It’s Dean’s job to keep them running well and looking respectable. No sick person wants to get in a dented, scruffy ambulance.

He’s had to fix these trucks from every thinkable kind of damage. When they come back with scrapes all along one side, it’s an easy fix. Just buff out the scratch and lay on some new paint. Blow-outs, burn-outs, these are the problems he likes. True, they don’t challenge his skills or make him get creative with repairs, but they mean everyone was safe.

When a truck returns to the garage totaled, blind-sided by some asshole who wasn’t paying attention to the sound of a siren, that usually means one of his people—one, or both, of the EMTs—are in the hospital themselves somewhere. People think driving an ambulance is just about putting the lights on, honking the horn, and hitting the gas. But Dean’s had to declare enough trucks unsalvageable—and seen enough friends retire due to crash injuries—that he knows how dangerous it can be.

At each shift change he runs a cursory eye over his fleet, and a more attentive eye over the returning crew. He sees them come back laughing, or dirty, or just exhausted. They’re his people, even if half of them don’t talk to the lowly mechanic.

He watches truck 94 pull in. They’re forty-five minutes past their shift time. He knows because he often chats with Cas and Crowley when they return for the evening. He looks forward to talking to them, likes to think he knows them well.

Cas is a relatively new EMT, just six months in, and Crowley is his senior partner. They spend 40 hours a week together in a confined space, and Dean isn’t sure which one he’s more jealous of. Crowley is cool, refined, and smart. He’s a good friend to those who earn it. Dean thinks he has, though it’s hard to tell sometimes with Crowley’s sarcastic sense of humor.

Cas is quiet, intuitive, and stubborn. Dean has watched him stand up to Crowley or another EMT, and he loves the way his blue eyes turn intense, his whole body seeming to focus on the hard words coming from his mouth. He never yells. He doesn’t need to.

Crowley parks the truck and turns to gather his things from the space between their seats. Cas doesn’t move. Dean pretends to be inspecting the truck closest to him, which he already checked an hour ago. He watches Crowley say something to Cas, who nods mutely. Crowley turns and walks into the crew room, raising one hand to Dean on the way.

Dean kneels under the pretense of checking the truck’s front tire. He brushes a wet leaf off it, glancing at Cas. He’s still motionless in the passenger seat, his blue eyes unfocused, eyebrows sad.

Dean ducks his head, unsure if Cas would want him to watch. He hesitates, thinking back to what he heard over the loudspeaker in the garage today. He doesn’t really pay attention unless it becomes clear shit is _really_ hitting the fan. He curses that he can’t remember what calls Cas and Crowley went to. Maybe something had gone bad in Cas’ personal life?

He hears a truck door slam shut and looks up before he can stop himself. Cas has gotten out of the passenger seat and opened the door to the patient compartment. Dean watches him climb inside. The door closes. Dean straightens up, waiting for Cas to come out.

But he doesn’t. Dean lets five incredibly long minutes go by before he gives in and starts toward the truck. He glances at the crew room, where Crowley disappeared, but can’t see him inside.

Dean knocks on the back door to the truck, not wanting to startle Cas, then pulls open one side. Cas is sitting in the captain’s chair, his elbows on his knees. His blue eyes are huge and flooded, his nose red, tears shining on his cheeks. Dean’s breath catches.

“Cas?” he asks softly. Cas doesn’t look up. He keeps his gaze on the back of the stretcher, shakes his head.

“What’s up?” Dean asks. He wants to get in and comfort Cas just as much as he wants to shut the door and let him have his privacy. He doesn’t know which one Cas wants. Maybe he should go get Crowley. He’d know what Cas needs.

Cas lifts his head, meeting Dean’s eyes. “Hello, Dean,” he says, his dusty voice cracking. He wipes his nose on the back of his hand, then wipes his hand on his pants.

“Hey,” Dean replies. He glances at the truck to see if there are any clues that could tell him why Cas is upset, but they must have cleaned it after their call. Everything is spotless. “Can I…?” He gestures up into the truck.

Cas frowns, then half-shrugs. “You don’t have to. I’m fine.”

“I can see that.” They stare at each other. Cas shrugs again.

Dean climbs up into the back, but lets Cas have his space. He sits on the squad bench, clasping his hands in his lap. Cas sits up straighter, sniffing.

“I’m really fine, Dean,” he says. “Thank you for your concern.”

“What happened?” Dean asks.

“Just a shitty call,” Cas says, his voice going hard. “Crowley can tell you.”

“Pretty sure he’s already gone home.”

“Good for him,” Cas says absently, using a tissue from the box kept in the back of the truck.

“He’s not much of a feelings guy,” Dean says. Come to think of it, neither is Dean. He has a sudden desire to get up and leave Cas on his own. But he can’t.

“I know.”

Cas seems to have control of himself now. He dries his face with another tissue, but his eyes are still overbright.

Dean tries again. “What happened?”

Cas eyes him, that blue gaze going right through Dean. “It’s nothing, Dean. I’m being silly.”

“I guess I’m just wondering what could upset the second-toughest son of a bitch in this place,” Dean says. “Because if you’re doing the waterworks, I’m in trouble.”

Despite the tears in his eyes, Cas chuckles. Dean feels relief spread like hot coffee through his chest.

“Please tell me?” he adds, just in case Cas still wants to deny that anything is wrong.

Cas sighs. “It really is stupid. I’ve had so many worse calls. Not able to save Nana when her grandchildren are standing next to me, screaming. Kids vomiting blood. Drunks trying to assault me. Friends…. This was…mundane, Dean. It shouldn’t have affected me.”

“Well clearly it did,” Dean says. “So will you spit it out already so we can go out for drinks after?”

Cas tilts his head. “You want to go for drinks?”

Dean bulls ahead, trying not to blush. “If you want to.”

Cas smiles at him, his eyes finally seeming dry. “I’d like that.”

Dean nods, businesslike. “So. What happened?”

“It was a child,” Cas says. “Thirteen years old. There was nothing medically wrong with him. He was having a psychotic episode. It happens.”

Dean nods, watching Cas’ face as he speaks.

“He told me his story. He lives at home, with his mother and his two little brothers. His mother is…unable to provide for them. She has her own…difficulties.” He looks at Dean significantly, and he nods to show he understands. “His father is absent. This boy—he’s thirteen, Dean—he does everything for his family. He works for them, provides for them, tucks them in bed while their mother gets high. And he was doing fine. But….”

Cas’ eyes are filling with tears again. Abruptly, he stands up and steps around the stretcher, sitting down hard on the squad bench next to Dean. He clenches his fists on his knees and two tears fall down onto his navy pants.

“But last night his mother overdosed.”

“Shit,” Dean whispers.

“Bobby did the call,” Cas continues. “They couldn’t get her back. She was rigored before they got there. So now this boy is going to lose his brothers. A thirteen-year-old can’t have custody. It broke him. I had to hold him down and tie him to the stretcher so he wouldn’t jump out of the truck. I wanted to tell him it would be okay. I needed to tell him that. That the world would leave him alone and his family would stay whole. But that is a lie.”

Cas strikes his fist against his knee. Dean feels a lump in his own throat.

“I could do nothing,” Cas says plainly. “I am helpless.”

Dean puts his arm around him. He can’t think of anything to say, but that seems to be okay. Cas coughs and rubs at his nose again.

“I did what I could,” he says. “I got him somewhere safe. I kept his brothers with him. But I can’t do what he really needs. I can’t save his family.”

“That’s not your job,” Dean says. His voice is husky with his own emotions, the old fears that this story dredges up. “Let Child Protective Services do that.”

“Logically, I know there is hope for him,” Cas says. “But there was nothing _I_ could do. That is the selfish truth.”

“You are not selfish,” Dean tells him. “You’re out there every day putting yourself in danger for other people. You help them when they’re at their worst. That’s what fucking heroes do, man.”

Cas shakes his head. “Tell that to a boy who just lost his whole family.”

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it. He realizes his arm is still around Cas’ shoulders, and wonders if he wants him to let go.

A knock on the back of the truck makes them both jump. Crowley’s voice comes from outside.

“If either one of you is less than fully dressed, I will keep my very important news all to myself.”

Dean pulls his arm away from Cas, blushing. Cas’ blue eyes scan over Dean’s chest, the arm that has just released him. He gives his head a minute shake.

“It’s safe, Crowley,” Cas says.

Crowley opens the back door. He stands there, immaculate as always in his uniform. Dean is glad this man has Cas’ back out on the road.

“Pardon me for not joining the festivities back here,” Crowley says. “I’ve just been on the phone with one Mrs. Pamela Lafitte, the charming fifty-four-year-old grandmother of a young boy called Benny.”

Dean notices Cas’ body grow stiff beside him. He sits forward, intent on Crowley, who continues.

“She lives in the beautiful city of Lebanon, Kansas, in a vast, two-story house much too big for her and her cat, Vampire. She is deeply saddened by the news that her daughter-in-law has passed.”

Now Dean understands, and his heart skips a beat. He sits up straighter.

“She will be driving her sunny blue Cadillac up these 300 miles, and should arrive by tomorrow morning. She has already been in touch with the hospital, and the authorities, about taking custody of her three grandsons.”

Dean laughs, grinning as he turns to Cas. Cas jumps up, staring at Crowley with an open mouth.

“How did you find her?” he asks, breathless.

Crowley cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, the things I need to teach you. I have my resources, Kitten. Now go get drunk before any more liquid seeps from that Cosmo cover you use for a face. Dean, make sure he gets home safely.”

“I will,” Dean says.

“I don’t mean his home,” Crowley clarifies.

Dean blushes again. “That’s up to him, man.”

Crowley gives Cas a significant look. “I’ll point out that that was not a ‘no.’”

“Good night, Crowley,” Dean says, his neck burning.

“Good night, kids. Don’t do anything nasty in my truck.”

“Crowley,” Cas says, stopping him before he can shut the door. Crowley looks back, one quizzical eyebrow raised. “Thank you.”

Crowley nods his head once, and then he’s gone. The door shuts behind him.

They sit in silence for a minute.

“I should probably go,” Dean says with false cheer. “The couch will wonder why I’m home late.” He stands up.

“Dean?”

He looks back at Cas, still sitting on the bench with his hands clasped on his knees.

“Do you still want that drink?” Cas asks shyly.

“You don’t have to do it just because Crowley said something,” Dean says. “He was kidding. I think.”

“I’m not doing it because of Crowley,” Cas says. He meets Dean’s eyes with that piercing gaze that makes him feel simultaneously lost and found. “I would like to have a drink with you.”

Dean is only willing to give one answer to that.

And later that night, if they end up well-acquainted with Dean’s nagging couch, well, Dean’s not gonna give Crowley a chance to gloat. But he does have a bottle of scotch and a couple hundred ways to break into his black Lincoln and leave it for him.


End file.
